He says he has come to visit father to ask a favor.
“At your service, inshallah.”
He says that Hajj Mishaal had trumped up a drugs charge against him and he needs father to testify for him in the case.
Father says right away: “I’m happy to help. What happened exactly?”
“He took the shop across from mine and wants to buy mine also, but I didn’t want to sell.”
He stands up saying: “I have to go by the shop now. Did you notice the loudspeaker that Mishaal has hung up?”
“Yeah. It reaches all the way to here. It doesn’t let me sleep.”
“Are you going to sit with us tonight? Um Kalthoum is singing The New Moon Has Risen.” Father turns toward me then says: “I’ll have to see.”
’Abdel Alim goes out. I sit up and say to him: “Papa, don’t leave me alone.” He studies me for a second then says: “Okay, get up and put your clothes on.”
I get dressed in a hurry. I wipe off the lenses of my glasses with a handkerchief. We go out into the alley. Siham looks out of her window as usual. We go out to the main street and head toward Sikakny Square. After crossing several more wide streets, we make it to Cinema Rialto. The crowded foyer. A whistle, noises and shouting. We climb up a short staircase to a raised viewing stand at the back. We sit on a wooden bench. The man selling pumpkin seeds, peanuts, and pretzels goes from bench to bench. I want to sit on her lap but she pushes me away from her. My father takes me between his knees. A seller passes by in a clean gallabiya with a basket covered by a cloth. He buys a giant pretzel with sesame for each of us. The vendor gives us each a bite-sized slice of Egyptian Romano wrapped in a paper.
Father buys me a tube of roasted seeds. A double feature. First there’s a short feature. It’s an episode of the adventures of Jesse James. The main feature is Bulbul Effendi, starring the singers Farid Al-Atrash and Sabah.
The screen goes dark suddenly and the lights come up. Shouts go up. Father takes off his fez and his bald head shines in the light. He lights a cigarette. Cinema Hillal in Sayida Zainab Square. I am with ’Azmy, the son of the maid of Mama Basima. We stand at the ticket window. The ticket seller wears a complete, fancy suit with a tilted fez. We don’t have enough for the tickets. He waves at us to sneak in through the third-class door. We stop close to the screen. It is filled with the face of Laila Murad.
The hall goes dark. The film starts up again. The air inside is choking. Father takes off his coat. The movie ends and lights shine. His face is frowning. He wipes the sweat from his brow and forces his lips into a smile. We wait for the crowds pushing through the exit to disperse. He takes my hand in his strong grip. We go out into the street. He buys me a semolina cake from the sweet shop. We walk slowly. Our alley is drowned in darkness. The entrance to the house, too. I hang on to his coat. His arms wrap around me.
~ ~ ~
We wash for prayer together. He lays out a blanket over the floor. While holding on to a long string of prayer beads, he sits on the blanket cross-legged. A frown. He recites the invocation. He repeats it as he counts off the beads on the string. He calls it “the millennial” because it has a thousand beads. The sound of the Friday sermon comes from Um Zakiya’s radio. The sermon ends. I pray with him. The prayer is over, but he continues with a few extra bows. He tries to make sure I’m clean. He says I can’t go to the bathroom for the next hour. He warns me not to answer if the doorbell rings or if anyone knocks on our door. He says that Abbas’s wife has said she’ll come this afternoon.
He closes the door of the balcony firmly then stuffs a piece of cloth at the bottom. Another piece under the door to the room. He puts the primus stove down on the floor at the edge of the blanket. On top of the flame, he sets a sheet of tin that he made from the lid of a can of shortening. He throws some frankincense, seeds and herbs on top of it from small bags lined up on the desk next to a white plate made of china. He pulls down the book The Great Star of Knowledge. The fragrant vapors rise up and fill the room. I cough. He mutters to himself the ninety-nine names of God. He brings a sheet of paper and ink. He sits cross-legged. He throws more of the incense on to the fire. He recites: “Say, ‘I seek refuge in the Lord of the dawn/From the evil in His creation/From the evil of the dark as it spreads/From the evil of the sorceress who casts her breath on the knot/From the evil of the envious one who envies.’ ” I study the fire. He pokes me with his elbow so I’ll repeat the verse. We recite it several times.
He takes a pin and a sheet of paper. He pokes it and says: “Against Nabila’s eye. Against her husband’s eye. Against Tahiya’s eye. Against the constable’s eye. Against ’Abdel Alim’s eye. Against Ali Safa’s eye. Against Um Safwat’s eye. Against Hikmet’s eye. Against Sheikh Afifi’s eye.” He thinks for a second, then adds: “Against Khalil’s eye.” He throws the paper on to the fire and watches it go up in flames.
I try to get up but he says we aren’t done yet. He takes the china plate from on top of the desk. He puts it in front of himself. He takes the bottle of blue ink and a reed pen. He opens The Great Star of Knowledge to a page marked by a white sheet of paper. He sticks the pen in the bottle of ink. He grabs the plate and starts to write out the fatiha around its edges. He turns the plate around in a circle and keeps on until he has finished the whole chapter. He reads from the marked page of the book. He takes from it a big square with long columns covering it lengthwise and across the width. He pours a cup of water on to the dish and adds a few drops from the bottle of rose water and a spoon of honey. He gives it to me to drink. I pull my head away. He shouts at me: “Drink it!”
I drink the mixture. He tells me to repeat after him: “May God bless what I have drunk that it might help me with learning and comprehension.” He reads from the The Embryo: “Recite in the name of thy Lord who created; created the human from an embryo. Recite and thy Lord is all giving, who taught by the pen, who taught the human what is known.” He prostrates himself in prayer twice, and I pray with him. My mother’s voice from the bedroom: “Ya Seen, and the Quran is wisdom. Verily you are one of its messengers.” He puts the small shaving mirror in my hand. He tells me to press my finger on its brass frame that keeps falling off.
He opens the book to another page. He says that the exam questions are going to appear on the mirror’s glass and that I need to pay close attention. He reads from the book in a voice that shakes: “O Lord, employ Your angels on my behalf, there is no god but You, O Lord of dignity and generosity, O living and ascendant One I implore You, Giver of sustenance to sustain me.” He repeats the incantation forty times while counting on his fingers. He says: “O Answerer, answer my call and fulfill my needs.”
I stare at the surface of the mirror and repeat after him: “I ask You by Boqallim, Shounahil, Shahareen, I ask You by the holiness of Kashheel, Bardeem, Baha’eel, Ajajeel, ’Anaseel, and I ask You by the holiness of Gabrael, Micha’il, Israfeel, and Azra’el. O Lord, I ask You verily O Lord of dignity and generosity, O living and ascendant One. I ask in Your name, O most supreme One.” He scolds me: “Slow down.” He continues: “And I ask You in your name, Allah, Allah, Allah, the Beautiful, the Generous, and I ask You in Your name, the One, the Glorious, and I ask You in Your name, God the Prince of holiness and peace, the Trustworthy, the beloved Grand Ruler, the grace of Allah fall on our pleas. If You should come to us conveyor of these names, answer us with the righteousness of He who speaks the heavens and earth, may our will and our obedience come to us and speak, addressing us in our obedience, in the rightness of A’aya, Sharaahiya, Adotay, Usbawat, with haste, with haste, right now, right now.”